


rocky mountain high

by lunarcrowley



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 6000 Years of Slow Burn, And Then Some, Chubby Aziraphale, Cowboys, Cozy Cabin, Deviates From Canon, Domestic, Flirting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Fussy aziraphale, Grumpy Crowley, Humor, Long Hair Crowley, Lovesick, M/M, Married Banter, Mild Angst, Miscommunication, Pining, Sexual Tension, Shenanigans, Slow Burn, Tenderness, Traveling, and i do mean in terms of ridiculousness, aziraphale is baby, but really so is crowley, getting together on vacation, mountain holiday, overemotional crowley, physical attraction, post-almost-apocalypse, probably out of character, theatrical crowley, things escalate quickly, trivial problems, trying to be human
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-27 18:02:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20050255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunarcrowley/pseuds/lunarcrowley
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley hit the road for a sweet rocky mountain paradise.





	1. gone west

**Author's Note:**

  * For [indigoat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigoat/gifts).

> (beta'd by indigoat & this is my humble cowbutch gift to her) this is very much a self indulgent fic about my recent annual trip to colorado in the summertime. i apologize for the out of character and out of canon moments, i have no self control. nonetheless i hope you enjoy it because i had so much emotion and so much fun writing it.

“I think we ought to take a holiday, don’t you?” Crowley said, as he scraped his plastic spoon along the bottom of his raspberry sorbet cup.

  
It was a warm summer day. The sun was bright, the blue sky scattered with puffy clouds. Aziraphale and Crowley were sitting on a park bench, under some shady trees, where they sometimes met up.  
Aziraphale took a third bite of his butter crunch sundae. “A holiday?”

  
Crowley tossed his cup into the rubbish bin nearby, and spread his arms out over the back of the bench. One of them was behind Aziraphale. The angel was a bit alarmed by the brief brushing of Crowley’s arm against his back, but did his best not to make a big deal of it. He was sure Crowley meant nothing by it.

  
“Yes,” Crowley answered. “Now that our people may leave us alone for a bit. Don’t you think it would be nice?” He asked. He raised his eyebrows almost pleadingly. “Continue enjoying the wonders of this Earth while it’s still around, for now?”

  
“Well, yes,” Aziraphale said tentatively. He thought about it for a moment. Had they been on holiday before? They had talked about it. They had been on holiday while they were working. And not really entirely together. It had always ended too soon. “I suppose this would be the best time to do so.” A real holiday, with Crowley. He was thrilled by the idea.

  
“Yes, angel, that’s what I mean,” Crowley said, a little impatiently. “You want to or not?”

  
Aziraphale looked at the sky thoughtfully, and then took another bite. “I do think it would be nice.”

  
“We could go anywhere,” Crowley said. “Anywhere in the Universe.” He crossed his legs loosely and gestured up at the wide, bright sky.

  
“What about America?” Aziraphale suggested, turning towards him.

  
“America? Angel, that is the last place I expected you to suggest,” Crowley said, his face scrunching.

“Well,” Aziraphale countered. “I’ve never been there for long. It’s a strange place but it’s huge, you know. Lots of remote places. Wilderness.”

  
“I never figured you for a, euhh, wilderness-type-individual,” Crowley murmured. “Anyway, plenty of wilderness in Europe, if you ask me.”

  
“It’s different. That’s why I think it would be nice,” Aziraphale said, defending his case. He set down his ice cream next to him on the bench so that he could focus on persuasion.

  
“Hmm..” Crowley thought about it. It was definitely different from what he had been thinking of. Trampling about in some city they hadn’t explored in detail yet. But he could vaguely see Aziraphale’s point...

“It might be...” He winced. “Nice.”

  
Aziraphale smiled excitedly. “I know just the place we could go. The Rocky Mountains,” He said, making a showy gesture with his hands.

  
“Angel, how come?” Crowley groaned. “I know it’s my job, but you may have to... eh, tempt me here.” He grimaced.

  
Crowley had been to the major cities and attractions in America in his 6,000 years. But he had yet to venture into the simple wilderness of the vast country.

  
Aziraphale seemed even more excited by the opportunity to tempt. “Well, we would have a nice little cabin, no one to bother us, campfires, simple living, surrounded by nature. Just a lovely secluded place to enjoy the break while we can,” He said, somewhat whimsically.

  
Crowley squared his jaw and thought about it some more. “I do like the idea of no one bothering us,” He said. “Could use some time off the grid.”

  
Aziraphale clapped his hands together. “Oh, yes! It will be so nice, Crowley. You’ll see. I’ve always wanted to go.” He picked up his ice cream and took another bite.  
Crowley surrendered a small, slightly pleased smile. “Alright, angel. Fine. We leave tomorrow.”  
-  
The next morning, Crowley drove up to Aziraphale’s bookshop and parked illegally outside. He cranked down his window and honked the horn briefly to let him know he had arrived.

  
Aziraphale came out the door a few moments later. He used a small key to lock the door behind him. He was carrying a small briefcase. They really didn’t need to bring a whole lot - Crowley wasn’t bringing more than the clothes on his back and a Diet Coke. Anything else he needed, he could probably conjure up, buy or find somewhere in the Bentley’s depths.

  
“Good morning, dear,” Aziraphale said in a jolly voice.

  
“Morning,” Crowley replied. He waved his hand and the trunk popped open.

  
Aziraphale placed his case in the backseat and then came around to the front and slid in. Crowley shut the trunk with the same gesture. He knew the angel liked material security.

  
“Coffee for our little road trip?” He said. He offered Aziraphale a caramel macchiato with extra foam, and a cinnamon doughnut. He also knew what his friend liked.

  
“Oh, wonderful! Thank you,” Aziraphale said sweetly, surprised and grateful. He accepted the coffee and took a small sip. The doughnut he tucked away for a little later.

  
Crowley only nodded. He himself had a coffee as black as night, darkest roast. Typical for a demon, perhaps. Except he had it with one sweetener: to have it completely bland would be preposterous.

  
“So, Crowley, how exactly are we getting to America? I thought we could take an airplane like the humans do. But I would like to hear your ideas,” Aziraphale said, as he settled into his seat.

  
Crowley had briefly thought of just driving there, but there was the problem of the Atlantic Ocean. “We’ll go to Heathrow,” He answered. “And take a plane to wherever it is that these Rocky Mountains are."

He paused thoughtfully. "Quite an obvious name, isn’t it?” He murmured.

  
“I’m sure it’s better than it sounds,” Aziraphale said, in his gentle way.

  
-

  
The two of them went on a rather commonplace airline trip to Denver, Colorado. Crowley looked miserably at Aziraphale as he was pat down at security. Aziraphale appreciated the architecture of the airport. They ambled about and watched the humans, enjoying each other’s quiet company and idle chatter. Aziraphale insisted on a nice spot of lunch before boarding, and by a miracle the flight waited twenty minutes before taking off.

  
It was a nine hour flight. Aziraphale and Crowley had paid for first class seats - the two of them had enough money for such things. They were next to one another with only an aisle separating them.  
Aziraphale enjoyed the high class treatment; hot towels, fancy meals and a seat that laid all the way back.

As he laid there, he briefly remembered the first time he had ridden an airplane in the 1950s. It made him blush to think of the time he had seen Crowley dressed as an air hostess. How he had briefly felt a first physical longing for his human-shaped body...

  
He tried urgently not to think of it, as Crowley was looking at him right then. He was asking for his opinion on if he should watch Wonder Woman or Man of Steel on the little screen on the back of the seat.

  
“You probably wouldn’t know anyway, since you never watch films,” Crowley amended, and waved his hand in dismissal.

“How rude. I certainly do. But only the good ones," Aziraphale replied.

  
“Bugger it. I’m going to watch Man of Steel.” Crowley turned back around in his seat.

  
“Oh, please don’t!" Aziraphale argued. "Wonder Woman is far better.”

  
“If you say so, angel.”

  
Crowley settled in and watched the movie. Aziraphale sighed softly, and then caught himself staring rather desperately.

  
-

  
The Bentley clunked over a dirt mountain path. Rocks flew up and struck the bottom, creating awful crunching and clanging sounds. On one side was a dead drop cliff overlooking a shining lake, and the other, a tall mountain surface that had been cut for the road. Crowley winced at every sound the Bentley made. He was so focused on keeping it in one piece that he hardly said anything, except the occasional hiss of “I don’t know why I ever agreed to this,” or “Damn it all!” and other blessings. Not to mention, driving on the other side of the road was bloody torture.

  
Aziraphale paid no real mind, and calmly reassured Crowley every once in a while. He was busy looking out the window at cascading mountain ranges, mesas, lava intrusions, wild forests. Even rolling sand dunes over the flat basin plains just before enormous peaks. He had known this place would offer all sorts of new landscapes, but it was so much more incredible in person.

  
It was a five hour drive from Denver to the targeted National Forest, which Aziraphale had picked out. But Crowley had cut it down to three the way he was speeding.

  
He only really got a good look at the scenery when they hit the dirt road between sprawling farm lands. There, he was forced to adhere to the speed limit in order to protect the Bentley.

  
They were heading up into the mountains. A John Denver cassette was in the player, and even though it wasn’t Queen, it was growing on Crowley.

  
Aziraphale had done some quick research once they had arrived in Denver, and on the plane. If he tried, he could consume massive amounts of information at once. He didn’t often like to do that: he liked better to read slowly and take in every word.

  
He had found a little cabin for rent in the exact sort of place he had been thinking of: a small remote town in the middle of a protected wilderness area. It contained both alpine and desert landscapes. He had read about them some time ago, and found them breathtaking.

  
Crowley had a handy way of getting the Bentley on the other side of any transport they took. So when they had exited the unusual Denver airport, it had been there waiting.

  
Now, Aziraphale was cranking down the window. He took a deep breath of the air. It was fresh, and cool, and smelled of the unique scents of pine and aspen and high altitude wildflowers.

  
“Oh, that smells lovely,” He said softly, looking out in wonder as the road wove between the tall trees.

  
Crowley had since calmed. Although he still worried after the Bentley, the glance he stole towards Aziraphale distracted him.

  
Aziraphale was leaning against the half-open window, the refreshing summer wind flowing through his cotton-like hair. His eyes were closed. His eyelashes rested upon his fair skin. His eyelids were like pearls, his lips pink like seashells. He was sitting there just breathing the mountain air, and he looked so still, and so pure. Crowley’s heart did a weird thing in his chest and the car bumped over a big rock.

  
“Oh!” Aziraphale exclaimed, his peace broken, but he smiled. The ragged road was just part of the package.

  
Crowley looked ahead at the road, and swallowed heavily.

  
-

  
It was the first morning in the little cabin. Aziraphale woke from his indulgent rest at the break of dawn. They had arrived late in the night. Although they could have stayed awake, they each chose a bedroom and retired, saving the activities for the daytime.

  
The golden sunshine crept in through the little window of the bedroom, the first rays brightening flecks of dust in the air. Aziraphale laid in the comfortable sheets and gazed at it for a few lazy minutes. The window was open, and through the screen came a chilly breeze, and a fresh, pure scent. Aziraphale sat up, sighed happily, and put on his slippers and velvet robe. He wore old fashioned pajamas, much like a silk nightdress, a baby blue. His slippers were plush and elegant. And, of course, a little cap rested atop his silver head.

  
Aziraphale padded out of his room quietly. He glanced at Crowley’s room. Sure enough, the door was still shut tight.

He walked into the living room, and rubbed his hands together. It was cold.

  
He decided to set to work on building a fire. The cabin had come with some already prepared firewood, and out back he had seen a tool shed and a pile of fallen tree branches waiting to be chopped.  
Of course, he could start a holy fire with a snap of his fingers. But he wanted to do this the human way; that was the charm of this woodsy American holiday.

  
Aziraphale looked beneath the staircase and found old newspaper meant specifically to start fires. He hated to burn literature, but it needed to happen. He briefly looked over the paper, apologized softly and then crumpled it up.

  
He placed it gently in the fireplace, which was a cast iron box in the center of the room that lead all the way up to the crest in the wooden ceiling.

  
He found a box of matches, knelt down and lit the paper, and then quickly realized there would be nothing for it to burn. He scrambled for a medium sized log and placed it on top: immediately, the fire burned through the paper and went out when the log touched it.

  
“Oh, no!” Aziraphale exclaimed, and wrung his hands. “Little patience, that’s all,” He told himself softly.

  
He did the newspaper all over again and then put the log on top. Then he lit the match underneath the paper, and dropped it swiftly when the fire climbed to his bare fingers.  
This time the fire spread to the log and popped loudly when it hit a chunk of sap, which surprised him. He flinched back.

  
“First time lighting a fire?”

  
Aziraphale jumped again. “Crowley!” He exclaimed, seeing him leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed. It certainly wasn’t the first time he had lit a fire, just the first in a long while. “How long have you been standing there?!”

  
Crowley grinned. “Long enough.”

  
He was wearing dark plaid pajama pants, a faded black Queen t-shirt which was rather big on him (that he probably got at a concert) and black socks. Aziraphale had no idea where he had kept them, because he hadn’t brought any luggage. Probably just conjured them. His long red hair was tied messily in a bun, and he wore no sunglasses. He’d seen him like this before, of course, as long as they’d been friends.

  
But really, he was a vision. Aziraphale had to hold his breath for a moment. Then he remembered that he was frustrated.

  
“Go on and make some coffee, why don’t you?” Aziraphale suggested with a false bitterness, and bent back down to inspect his fire, which was now catching perfectly...

  
Crowley attempted to silence a chuckle and began to rummage around in the cabinets.

  
Aziraphale pulled himself off the floor, almost using the fire box to lean on but thinking better of it. He was feeling flustered and it was only seven in the morning.

  
The day before, Aziraphale had suggested they get some groceries in a larger town before arriving at the cabin. The trip had mostly consisted of him picking out high quality foods while Crowley threw in an American novelty snack or two. It had been an interesting time. When Aziraphale had worried about putting all of it away, Crowley had already made sure everything was stowed in the cabinets.

  
Crowley found the coffee tin after grumbling about his own organization style, and then looked for a coffee pot. The place had come furnished, of course, with some pots and pans and the like already inside.

  
Crowley was used to popping the Keurig anytime he wanted a coffee, which wasn’t often. Now he had to remember how to make coffee on a gas stove like he’d had to do a few centuries ago.  
While he clanked around, Aziraphale stretched and then joined him in the kitchenette, which connected directly to the living room. It was dim in the cabin as the morning light slowly grew; the lights were off and they were all gas lamps anyway - the place had no electricity. It made Crowley a little antsy, while Aziraphale felt completely at home.

  
“How do you feel about omelettes?” Aziraphale asked brightly, now done fussing over the fire.

  
“Sounds good,” Crowley said, his voice muffled, his head in a cabinet below the wooden countertop. “Where the Heaven is the blessed coffee pot?”

  
It was days in unfamiliar places when Crowley most felt the need for a coffee. Eventually he exclaimed victoriously and pulled himself out, holding a dusty coffee pot. “There it is,” he said, and smiled up at Aziraphale.

  
Aziraphale softened, and nodded encouragingly. Crowley stood up, his bun now falling apart - he didn’t seem to mind. 

  
He opened the coffee pot up and began messing around with the pieces of it. Aziraphale wanted to help him but knew he would find it all the more frustrating if he did.

  
Aziraphale instead busied himself with gathering eggs from the fridge, along with spices and other ingredients. He located a pan on the hanging pot rack above the stove and started cooking.  
Crowley found coffee liners and pushed one down into the percolator; he cursed when it ripped a hole in it.

  
“It’s supposed to do that, dear,” Aziraphale said, without looking.

  
Crowley grumbled and carefully poured some of the gourmet coffee Aziraphale had picked out into the lined percolator, and then realized he should have put water in first. “Shit and fuck,” He said, now done with regular cursing.

  
“Grumpy today, are we?” Aziraphale said, while he easily flipped a fancy omelette in the pan.

  
Crowley only hissed and carefully put in some water from the sink. They were informed in an instruction book within the cabin that the water in the plumbing came directly from a mountain spring.

  
Crowley then took the coffee pot and practically dumped it on the stove - and instead of lighting the gas with the knob in front of Aziraphale, he glared at it and the burner caught fire.

  
Aziraphale tsked disapprovingly, but Crowley was glad to be done with it.

  
Aziraphale finished making the omelettes while Crowley found some plates, mugs, and cutlery and set them on the little wooden table in the kitchen.

  
Crowley then served the blasted coffee while Aziraphale served breakfast. They sat in the wicker chairs on one corner of the table and ate.

  
“Quite good,” Crowley commented. He finished within a few minutes and then sat sprawled in his chair and watched Aziraphale eat while he sipped his coffee - which wasn’t so bad, either.  
Aziraphale took his time eating as always, enjoying each bite. He was proud of the way it turned out, since he didn’t cook too often; most of the time he went out to eat, especially with Crowley.

  
Crowley patiently flicked the contents of one pink sweetener packet into his coffee, and then tried it again. Now he could taste the richness of it.

  
He raised his eyebrows and gave Aziraphale an approving look: the angel smiled.

  
-

  
The two of them had moved to matching rocking chairs by the fire, which had simmered down to a glowing pile of embers. They looked around at the curious decorations crowding the cabin walls. it was themed after fishing, bears and Native American art. Aziraphale quite appreciated it.

  
Crowley drank his third cup of coffee and rocked the chair sort of recklessly. Aziraphale worked on his first cup and enjoyed just sitting quietly.

“What do you think we should do today?” Aziraphale asked, clasping his warm mug with two hands.

  
“Hmm?” Crowley slowed his chair and turned to Aziraphale, from where he had been staring into the fireplace. “Oh, I dunno. Maybe walk around. Your forest. You show me.”

  
He smiled contently.

  
Aziraphale blushed.

  
“Well,” Aziraphale began. He had thought about it a bit, after reading all about this area of Colorado on the airplane. “We could go hiking to this meadow where people go fishing and camping and things like that. Although it may take some, you know. Mortal effort.”

  
Crowley chuckled. “As long as I won’t be carrying you down a bloody mountain, I’m game.”

  
-

  
Crowley panted heavily, his legs dragging behind him as he crawled up an overgrown, rocky path.

  
“Water. Water,” He rasped.

  
Aziraphale was ahead of him on the trail. He was wearing khaki hiking boots and rather nice outdoor trousers. He was bent over with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

  
“I don’t like this,” He murmured almost unintelligibly. He was sure he was tasting blood in his mouth. “How do humans do it? No matter how prepared you are...”

  
“Angel, water, please,” Crowley begged, his hair damp and dangling in his face. It had been too long since he had really traveled both long and steep distances on foot. 

  
Aziraphale took one last drink of the canteen and then rolled it tiredly down the hill.

  
Crowley caught it and took a big swig. He gulped deeply, and the water ran in bright droplets down his exposed throat.

  
Aziraphale blinked, then closed his eyes for a moment.

  
“The air is so dry,” He wheezed, after a moment. “There’s hardly any oxygen at all. I don’t think we are built for this altitude,” He said.

  
Crowley’s head bobbed in a nod. Then he mustered his last ounce of stamina and stomped his black hiking boots up the hill. He stopped next to Aziraphale, and gave him a weary, exhausted expression.

  
Aziraphale gave him an equally weary and exhausted expression, his cheeks pink with exertion.

  
And then, Aziraphale’s nose exploded.

  
“Angel?” Crowley exclaimed.

  
Aziraphale held a hand to his nose and when he pulled it back, his fingertips were wet with bright red blood.

  
“Oh, dear,” He said, and frowned.

  
“Are you alright?” Crowley asked urgently.

  
“Oh, yes, I am,” Aziraphale assured.

  
But Crowley was already dabbing at his nose with his own sleeve. It was an expensive looking dark green cargo jacket. It was now turning brown in a nerve-wracking stain that would never come out.

  
Aziraphale didn’t know what to do. He just stood still, his eyes wide, as blood poured from his nose and Crowley soaked it up.

  
They didn’t touch often. In fact, they often avoided it. Aziraphale had long since learned to savor the fleeting moments.

  
“Lean your head forward,” Crowley said, and encouraged Aziraphale’s head forward with a hand gently at his jaw. His hands were warm and slick, but firm and slender.

  
Aziraphale had almost forgotten what they felt like.

  
“It’s the dry air and the change in pressure, I’ll bet.” Crowley said matter-of-factly. He peered at Aziraphale through his sunglasses, seemingly oblivious.

  
Aziraphale was speechless. Crowley wiped at his nose gently. He summoned a tissue from thin air and touched at it until it quit. Aziraphale unfroze and attempted to take it from him a few times, all to no avail.

  
Once it was finished, they both just sort of looked at each other oddly. Aziraphale sniffed.

  
“C’mon,” Crowley said, his expression unreadable. “We’re almost there.”

  
-

Once they reached the end of the trail, Aziraphale and Crowley practically fell into the lush meadow at the top.

  
Aziraphale miracled a picnic blanket beneath them before they collapsed. From the ground, laying on his side, he could see it all. The wide blue sky; the sharpness of the mountains against it; the shining white leftover snow banks; the vast alpine forest in all directions; the clearing, wide and filled with yellow flowers.

  
Crowley laid on his back, breathed the thin air and pushed his hair back. It shone copper in the sunlight. He took in the surroundings, sighed, and found himself caught in the beauty of it.

  
He nudged Aziraphale. “Angel, you’re not dead, are you?” He asked.

  
Aziraphale rolled over and leaned up on his elbows. “It’s gorgeous,” he breathed.

  
“I’ll give you that,” Crowley agreed.

  
They rested and looked around for a bit, without getting up. After the hike they were both quite dirty and sweaty. So much for mortal effort. It took a bit for the taints of human exertion to revert from their bodies. But then they were their clean, holy and unholy selves again.

  
Crowley’s gaze focused on the end of the dirt road that skirted the clearing. He had caught wind of a group of American mountaineers climbing out of a pickup truck with fishing poles, dressed all in wilderness gear.

  
“How-dee,” He murmured.

  
Aziraphale laughed softly.

  
Once Crowley heard that, there was no stopping him.

  
He waved his hand over his hiking outfit (which was well suited to his personal style), and suddenly he was wearing something completely different.

  
Faded blue jeans, a dark button up plaid shirt opened at the collar (which was tucked into the pants), pointed black boots (with spurs), and a belt with a big silver buckle. And a black cowboy hat, which sat neatly on top of his auburn waves.

  
He hooked one thumb into his belt loop.

  
“Yee and haw,” He said.

  
Aziraphale had a really hard time trying not to laugh. “Crowley, really. You are something.”

  
“Yer not gonna leave me alone in this, are ya?” Crowley said, in a very harsh American accent, as he yanked up a blade of tall grass and stuck it between his teeth.

  
Aziraphale was baffled, and sort of embarrassed, especially when Crowley raised his hand to wave at the ‘fellow’ cowfolks.

  
But he did look oddly striking, just like what a cowboy should look like, in his opinion. The others probably thought nothing of it.

  
Aziraphale felt his stomach doing an odd sort of flip. He blinked hard and then he was really in it.

  
He suddenly wore light tan leather pants and a matching vest, both with fringe. The shirt underneath was white. And so was the felt hat on his head. His boots were a light brown with silver spurs, his belt buckle studded with something shiny. It was very, very possible that he had overdone it.

  
“There ya go, angel,” Crowley said in his best Western accent, which was really quite awful.

  
It was unusual for Crowley to be so theatrical - he didn’t do it often. At least not so obviously on purpose. Which lead Aziraphale to think, as he watched Crowley stare in fear at a stray cow that had wandered into the meadow, that he really was enjoying the vacation.

  
Crowley watched Aziraphale get up and wander into the tall grass, watched him tip his hat and wink, and then pick one of every kind of flower he saw. Watched him jump in surprise as a deer appeared on the edge of the woods, and then, somehow, manage to get up close to it and gently stroke its nose.

  
And he ached.


	2. starwood in aspen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! i'm really enjoying writing this story. i hope there's people out there that will enjoy this as well. thank you to indigoat for betaing this chapter as well. i've got lots more in store for these boys, colorado's not done with 'em yet...

Evening fell quietly, purple and chilly over the clear sky. Thunderstorms crept over the San Juan Mountains, and flashed every so often to chase away wiser beings in the open meadow.

Somehow Aziraphale and Crowley found their way back to their little cabin without the use of miracles, demonic, angelic or otherwise. Aziraphale had decided on the way back to make chicken alfredo for dinner. The hike had been much more tolerable when it was downhill. 

Crowley sauntered onto the cabin’s deck, and kicked open the back door like he was entering a saloon. They were both still wearing their western getups, and had gotten too comfortable in them to bother changing. 

“Crowley! Is that really necessary?” Aziraphale complained, as a gray boot mark remained on the wood. 

Crowley rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers, and it disappeared. He threw himself into a chair padded with sheepskin, and lounged like a lazy cat. He propped his feet up on the cold fire box, and pulled his felt cowboy hat down over his eyes. 

Aziraphale gazed at him for a moment, and then tore his eyes away. He busied himself with making supper.

Crowley peeked from beneath his hat and asked Aziraphale several times if he needed help, to which Aziraphale always insisted upon honing his skills - and beneath that, he honestly liked to be the one cooking just for Crowley.

-

After dinner, Crowley and Aziraphale each took some separate time - which happened naturally, and tended to be part of their regular routine when they stayed together in each other’s flats and whatnot.

Crowley had done some poking around in the cabin, and in a closet he had found a few fold-up chairs. He picked a red one and dragged it out to the wide deck, which overlooked a sloping wooded hill. The cabin’s rear faced south, towards one of the lower peaks of the range - it was blanketed in trees and starlight.

He launched the chair out and dropped himself in it. Now that the golden hour had passed, the sky was a deep navy, and was flecked with the bright points of stars. Here and there, blue wisps of clouds swept away the light. The moon peered over the mountain, whole and shining like a silver coin. 

Crowley gazed deeply at it. Here he could see so many more stars than in the city. At least from the ground; he could see far more when he went up into them. 

His mind was loose and wandering, partly free of usual concerns tied to his very existence as a demon. He was, no matter how hard he may try not to show it, very glad that Aziraphale had brought him here.

And it had only been a day. He could scarcely imagine what days or weeks of these surroundings may do to him.

Aziraphale was inside, and he had been making himself some tea and cracking open a book when Crowley had gone out. Although they were in close proximity it did not mean they couldn’t have space between them.

Miles and miles of space, if he really thought about it. And every time they got any closer, like they had decades ago, like they had today, one of them always slid away. Last time, it had been Aziraphale.

Do I still go too fast for you? I can slow down. You can have your space. I can go away. I can... 

Maybe it would be different this time. It would be just them for a while. No interruptions. No excuses…

Suddenly Crowley’s thoughtful reverie was broken by an awful sound, one which nearly took him out of his skin. 

And just when he had been getting somewhere, too. 

“Hello?” He heard Aziraphale saying. 

Gabriel? Hastur? Michael? Beelzebub? Who was here to ruin their holiday? Nobody was. Not today. Not while Crowley still walked the Earth. 

And then the door was flying out of its frame. 

“Alright, you bastards!” He yelled, his face sharp as a snake’s.

Aziraphale stared at him in bewildered horror. He was sitting at the dining table and talking on an old phone hooked to the wall. 

He raised his eyebrows and placed his hand calmly over the phone’s receiver.

“Whatever in the world is wrong with you?!” He asked in a harsh whisper.

“Who the hell is it?” Crowley hissed through his teeth. The back door was in splinters.

“The nice woman next door,” Aziraphale said, frowning deeply at Crowley. “Just fix the door, please,” He said, and sighed.

He put the phone back up to his ear. “Yes, I’m sorry. You’re very kind! It’s quite nice here. I agree. Wild strawberries? Now where might we find those?”

Aziraphale chattered away, while Crowley stood in the door’s ruins for a moment, blank. That had been one hell of a reaction.

He walked quickly back to his room and laid down, slowly, and then groaned into the pillow.

-

Once Aziraphale had told the neighbor goodnight and promised to come say hello, he looked warily at the mess Crowley had made.

He must have been very afraid that they’d be found out and be recaptured, to have come bursting in that way. Aziraphale was sure that no one would find them, for the time being. And he had thought that Crowley was, too. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen Crowley in such a state of obvious distress.

Aziraphale waved his hand carelessly towards the door and it reassembled itself. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale called quietly, as he took cautious steps down the dark hallway, his hands clasped at his round middle.

“Crowley, are you alright?” 

He stepped up to the sealed door and gently pushed it open just a crack. It was very dark inside. 

“Just leave me be, angel.” Crowley murmured wearily, with a weak wave of his hand. His head was buried beneath the down pillow.

“No,” Aziraphale insisted in a firm voice. “What happened?” He asked, more softly.

There was no answer.

“C’mon...” Aziraphale summoned a merry voice, and tried his hand at Crowley’s tricks. “C’mon Cowboy...” He forced his best American accent. “Tell yer buddy what’s troublin’ ya...”

Silence.

He supposed it made sense for Crowley to be in the midst of some crisis. The amount of stress they had been under recently was astronomical. But if anything, out of the two of them, he expected himself to be the one falling to pieces. He normally was. Crowley was so cool and easy.

He tried to reason through it. But it didn’t help. He didn’t understand.

“Okay. Er, I’m sorry. I’ll give you your space, then…”

Crowley pressed his palms into his eyes. He could feel Aziraphale receding from him. And so bound by doubt, he could do nothing to stop it.

-

When Crowley woke the next morning, he had a headache. He was still in an emotional haze, and although he looked forward to another day of vacation, he was worried.

He lay in bed for a moment, the warm morning light shining onto his face. 

He had to get up eventually.

He forced himself out of bed, and went for the door. He pushed it open and weirdly, was met with a thump.

“Ow!”

Crowley blinked in confusion. 

“Whossere?” He murmured sleepily. He yanked the door open, and when he looked down, there was Aziraphale, sitting on the floor, rubbing his head where the door had smacked him.

“Angel? Why are you down there?” Crowley asked.

“Never mind why,” Aziraphale grumbled, clearly just having had a rude awakening, and got to his feet. His outfit from the day before was rumpled and he was trying to smooth it out.

“Did you sleep down there?” Crowley asked, frowning.

“Don’t worry about it,” Aziraphale snapped. He tugged on his vest. 

Aziraphale went into the kitchen, and as he did he quit fussing with his clothes and waved his hand to change them.

Crowley lingered in the doorway. He rubbed his head, and ran his fingers through his tresses to untangle the knots.

Aziraphale swallowed his embarrassment, and started cutting up fruit for an elegant toast breakfast. He sniffed as he did so.

“You ought to let me cook for you sometime, angel,” Crowley said softly.

Aziraphale was wearing his usual clothes now, the beige coat and trousers. He kept his back turned, and felt words rising in his throat. He couldn’t say them. 

He sliced the knife easily through a ripe strawberry. 

“That cowboy outfit rather suited you, I think,” Crowley murmured, his voice dwindling. 

Aziraphale let out a ginger sigh. 

“Thank you, Crowley.” 

Crowley stood in the living room, gazing at Aziraphale’s back. 

“Listen,” He said in a stiff voice. “I think we should put the worries aside, eh? Enjoy the vacation.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes for a moment, sighed once more, and then continued chopping an emerald green kiwi into discs. 

“I think so too, dear.”

-

That day they went on a simple walk in the woods around the cabin. Nothing too strenuous.

“I believe this is an aspen,” Aziraphale murmured, looking down at the little plant handbook he had found on the cabin’s bookshelf.

He placed his hand carefully on the pale bark of the tree; it was one of many that surrounded the road. The bark was blackened and puffy where the tree had been injured. The leaves were a soft green, and round. When the wind blew, the leaves shook where they hung on thin branches. It gave the tree the appearance of shivering in the cool breeze. 

Aziraphale gasped as he watched the leaves turn in the golden light.

Crowley watched from the road, his arms crossed. His lips curved into a tiny smile. If Aziraphale was a tree, maybe he’d be an aspen.

“C’mon, angel. What’s this one?” Crowley asked. He wandered up to a towering pine with fuzzy looking needles, which dangled gracefully from the branches. At the ends of the branches, the needles were a pale turquoise, giving the appearance of blue winter frost. The tree looked cold.

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale said, and turned the book over in his hands, flicked through a few pages. “Here, see if you can tell,” He murmured to Crowley, and handed the book off to him.

The cover was green leather, and on it was stamped “Plants, Flowers & Trees of Southern Colorado”. Crowley opened it and turned a few pages trying to find the pine tree section. 

As he did that, Aziraphale wandered underneath the pine’s shadow. He walked around the trunk, and then leaned in close to the bark and smelled it.

“What are you doing?” Crowley asked.

“Mmm,” Aziraphale said. “It smells good!”

“What?” Crowley said incredulously.

“It smells like... hmm... vanilla. Or.. ah! Butterscotch.”

Crowley raised one eyebrow, and thumbed the book. 

“I think it might be a Ponderosa Pine, angel,” Crowley said, studying the page and following the text with his finger.

He looked up when Aziraphale didn’t answer. “What are you doing now?”

Aziraphale was staring down at his hand, which was connected with a gooey substance to the tree. “Uh...” He said.

“Oh, angel!” Crowley exclaimed. He shoved the book under his arm and joined Aziraphale under the tree’s wide arms.

“You’ve got the sap everywhere. You know, if that gets on your clothes it will never come out.”

“Well! I know, Crowley, I didn’t mean to...” Aziraphale held his hand cautiously away from himself, two of his fingers coated in the stuff. It was wet, thick and a golden color. 

“You know it won’t come off your skin, either. Here...”

Before Aziraphale could do anything about it, Crowley took his hand, leaned forward, and slipped his plump sappy fingers into his mouth.

Aziraphale instantly turned a bright red color. “Crowley, I don’t think that’s—“

Crowley peered at him over his sunglasses, his wicked tongue dissolving the resin like it was nothing.

Aziraphale swallowed and his eyelids fluttered closed for a moment. Crowley’s tongue was warm and soft. His heartbeat was deafening in his ears.

Once the sap was gone, Crowley pulled back and his easy grip released Aziraphale’s hand. It had only taken a few seconds, but it felt like several minutes at least.

Crowley wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “There you have it, angel. Ponderosa pine. Doesn’t taste like butterscotch, I’ll tell you that. Now what can you tell me about this lad here?”

He held out Aziraphale’s book, and walked towards a scruffy pine just next to the Ponderosa. 

Aziraphale distractedly touched his the pad of his damp index finger to his lower lip, and then quickly dropped it. He took the book. He let the wind dry Crowley’s saliva from his fingertips.


End file.
